Chameleon Clutch
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: "I don't know what this chameleon clutch arte you speak of is, but if it has the power to force Gaius to submit… I would very much like to learn it." / Loosely based on a skit from ToX2: When Milla suggests a wrestling match to determine who is stronger, the Lord of Spirits or the King of Rieze Maxia, it ends… inconclusively, shall we say. I do not own Xillia or the cover art!


Gaius hovers drowsily in that cozy space between slumber and wakefulness, half-conscious thoughts drifting lazily through his head like silver clouds in a starry sky—but, just before he falls asleep, he pulls himself back from the edge by wondering once more in vain: _where did he go wrong_?

He takes a deep breath, resigning himself to the fact that even he is powerless to change the past. Unlike most of Gaius's mistakes, this one can't be easily forgiven or forgotten. There's nothing he can say or do to return what she gave him, no easy way to look her comrades in the eye.

He only wishes he could find it in his heart to regret it…

* * *

><p>It all started simply enough—a normal evening enlivened by the unexpected arrival of none other than the Lord of Spirits herself.<p>

"Maxwell," observed Gaius, rising from his throne in surprise, and she dipped her head in both acknowledgment and respect. "What brings you here?" he continued, eyeing her somewhat warily. For her to assume physical form once more, less than a year since her renewed resolution to remain in the spirit realm, it had to be something of the utmost importance.

"Gaius," responded Milla, coming to a halt before the throne; she stood on one hip, crossing her arms and looking him full in the face with a wide and serious gaze. "I hope you're well?"

"I am," replied Gaius, narrowing his eyes as he took in her unusual appearance. He noticed (forcing himself, as usual, to take an objective view towards her attire) that Milla wore no battle gear this time; merely a simple outfit very similar to the one in which he had first seen her. She wasn't even wearing shoes; why would she appear so vulnerable…?

"What brings you to this world?" added Gaius hesitantly, when she said nothing further.

"You do," answered Milla, as though he should have known, and he frowned in confusion. "Or rather… our confrontation almost two years ago does." She paused, looking deep into his eyes as if searching them for an answer: Gaius shifted, almost physically uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. (Of all the people he had ever met, Milla's eyes—so close in color to his own—were always the most difficult for him to meet, and it was _not _because of the body that lay beneath them.) "It was never resolved, was it?"

"…No," responded Gaius guardedly.

A determined gleam shone in Milla's eyes, and he blinked, trying to gauge the reason behind her apparently confrontational mood. "In that case," she declared, smiling faintly and taking a combat stance, "I've come to finish it."

At her unexpected and somewhat alarming words, hundreds of questions whirled through Gaius's head, the most prominent of which was _why_—but the first one which emerged was instead "How?"

"A wrestling match," replied Milla as though it should have been obvious, tilting her head with a frown, and Gaius almost smiled at her suggestion. It clearly came from an inane conversation he'd all but forgotten, almost a year ago. But did the Lord of Spirits even know how to wrestle? How _could_ she?

Never mind that; there were more important things to discuss—among them, what exactly had prompted this madness. "Why must we continue to oppose one another?" asked Gaius, crossing his arms and staring her down: she held his gaze, tapping her fingers on her arm. He had done everything she had requested of him, and more; she had no reason to be displeased with him or to doubt his alliance.

"Because I want to know who would win in a fair fight," answered Milla simply. Gaius wasn't about to pretend he hadn't wondered the same thing before, but it wasn't as though finding out was of particularly high priority. Besides, her method was a flawed one; for a king to wrestle a lady was hardly proper.

Especially a lady wearing so little…

He steered his thoughts away from her clothing with a light touch, focusing instead on the words now leaving her mouth. "Just the two of us, without weapons," added Milla, evidently oblivious to this last point, and smirked. "I've finally perfected the chameleon clutch arte, and I intend to use it."

Gaius gave a light sigh. Not this nonsense again. "If we can't use weapons, then we can't use spirit artes," he reasoned, raising his eyebrows, and Milla scowled at the floor, seemingly between annoyed and disappointed. But were the Lord of Spirits allowed to cast her artes as usual, Gaius wouldn't have a chance—not that any arte would have much of a place in a proper wrestling match.

But then, given her fairly limited worldly experiences, he wasn't entirely sure Milla knew what a proper wrestling match entailed. Regardless, with any luck, she would give up now that Gaius had banned her precious chameleon clutch.

He had no luck: eventually, to his surprise, Milla nodded in agreement, though clear reluctance and perhaps a little self-doubt weighed down her head. "But under those conditions, you'll face me?" she asked, a clear challenge in her voice as she met his eyes again, her determination no less fierce for the restrictions placed upon her.

Gaius paused, deliberating, weighing his options. Thoughts murmured restlessly in his head: one whispered that he ought to decline, as it would only be the kingly thing to do, and that such an action could hardly be taken as cowardice. Another murmured that he ought to accept; to do otherwise would be to pass up an opportunity to dominate the Lord of Spirits. He wavered on the edge, chivalry pointing him in one direction and suppressed desire in the other…

…The old wound to his pride throbbed suddenly, reminding him that he must prove his strength, and he found himself nodding once, forcing doubt out of his mind to make way for newfound determination. After all, if Gaius couldn't hold his own in a one-on-one duel, albeit an unconventional one, then what kind of a ruler was he?

Well… he was about to find out. Waving his hand to dismiss his guards, who filed out with a few curious glances backwards, he removed his coat and—after a hesitation—his shirt and boots. He then descended the stairs to stand before Milla and gave the ghost of a smile, which she returned.

The rules would have to be simplified a great deal before they would be able to meet on common ground…

"Whichever one of us pins the other against the ground by the shoulders for three seconds wins," decided Gaius, meeting her eyes levelly and crossing his arms once more as he bent his head slightly to look down at her. (No matter the result of the match to come, at least he would always win in the height department.)

"Seems fair," agreed Milla, gazing up at him. "Ready when you are," she added, extending her hand somewhat tentatively: Gaius shook it firmly, and she backed away suddenly as if expecting him to throw her to the ground right away.

It was clear from her posture, better suited to melee than wrestling, that she had no idea how to fight without either a sword or artes at her disposal. Milla glared over at him as they remained still and silent, taunting him wordlessly, daring him to make the first move—but Gaius merely stood motionless, watching her impassively.

He had a good deal of physical strength _and_ some experience on his side, after all; it simply wouldn't be fair for him to attack first. And besides, it was only the chivalrous thing to do, letting the first movement be on her terms; anything else would feel… wrong.

Eventually, after a long staredown, Milla finally shelved her proud dignity and charged him with a battle cry, readjusting her hands as she went as if not sure what to do with them. Gaius smirked, letting her build up momentum, well aware that she wouldn't know how to use it to its full potential.

Sure enough, though Milla grabbed him around the middle and threw her shoulder into a push, the collision was a weak one and ill placed: Gaius barely swayed, standing steady with his feet planted securely in alignment with his shoulders, and made no move to repel her. Let her try to bring him down: he'd give her a lesson in technique she'd never forget.

When several moments of straining made no difference, Gaius finally decided to take matters into his own hands and—finally discarding all lingering misgivings—slammed his hand into her sternum. The blow swept her up off the ground, and she flew a short distance through the air before hitting the carpet, hard.

Gaius, meanwhile, simply waited for his adversary to try another tactic. This she did far sooner than he would have guessed; Milla got swiftly to her feet, breathing hard, and circled Gaius warily, assessing all the angles of her target.

He did not turn to face her, knowing that by presenting a possible target, he would lure her into attacking from behind. This she predictably did, pressing on his lower back with all her might: Gaius only took exactly one step forward to solidify his stance, finding no need to stir further.

"You're _toying_ with me," snapped Milla, glowering and breathing hard as she stepped back. Gaius glanced over his shoulder, unable to suppress his amusement, and was about to remind her that _she_ chose this method—but there was no need for him to respond in words: his half-smile was enough to rally her determination.

Fury flashed in her fuchsia eyes, and she charged once more with another cry, jumping up and latching onto his back unexpectedly, causing him to stagger for the first time—throwing her arms around his neck in a chokehold. The position of her arms was too low on his chest to actually affect his breathing, but then she suddenly pummeled her heels against his diaphragm.

Gaius winced, tensing, and forced his hands between her arms to separate them. Securely grasping her wrists and feeling her legs relax around him, he dropped her hands behind his back, but immediately regretted it: he let out an involuntary cry as her fingernails raked across his back as she fell, a jolt surging through his body.

Back stinging, he turned his head with a grimace to see Milla lying spread-eagled on the ground, but she rose once more and approached from the front once more. Grasping one wrist with one hand and planting the other firmly on his chest, Milla twined her leg with his in a sort of tango and attempted to push him over.

Finally; some strategy, even if it would inevitably fail in the end. He drew his leg back while hers was still entwined, bringing her with it so that her feet were far apart, unbalancing her. From there, all he had to do was give Milla a shove, and she was on her way to the floor again…

…But he didn't bargain for her catching his arm and holding fast, and Gaius was forced to one knee over her as she hit the ground. And now began the second phase—the one during which it would actually be possible for one of them to win. Now, the fight could begin in earnest: he seized his opportunity, and her shoulders with it.

_**One—**_

Milla kicked Gaius double in the chest, forcing him off, and immediately pounced to grip his shoulders—not giving either him or herself time to recover from the last move. It was easy enough to roll her over again; sitting off to the side, he pressed her shoulders against the ground once more, insistently.

_**One.… two—**_

Wriggling out from under his hands, Milla rose quickly to her feet once more, breathing hard—and once again, she instantly shifted into her next move. (If there was one thing she had on her side, marveled Gaius, it was _speed_.) She lunged for him so swiftly he had no time to react, gripping him by the throat and shoving him to the floor with all her momentum, immediately readjusting her hold to fit his shoulders.

_**One. **_Gaius's eyes flicked to their legs to find that one of her knees was bent between his own. The knowledge spurred him on, urging him to finish this as soon as possible, a new and enticing danger made clear to him: he sat up, pushing Milla backwards into a kneeling position, and his hand lingered half-willingly on her flat, bare stomach.

She tried to scoot away from him, but Gaius threw his arms around her throat and midriff and dragged her backwards, laying her to rest on the floor as lightly as possible—though, judging from the scrapes on his back, Milla herself was not concerned with being gentle. In that respect, at least, she had the advantage.

_**One. **_Gaius became suddenly and sharply aware that his hands were not technically on Milla's shoulders, but instead placed just above her… ahem, _ample_… chest. He closed his eyes hastily in an effort to shut out the sight before them, trying in vain not to think of how such a scene must look to anyone who might stumble across them.

_**Two.**_ What was _this_? After his latest realization, his heartbeat seemed more frail, his breathing shallower, his strength diminished—and, most alarmingly, his mind was no longer preoccupied with preventing her retaliation, but rather focused on the feeling of her soft and supple and wonderfully corporeal skin beneath his fingers…

Taking advantage of his clear and self-inflicted confusion, Milla slipped her hands beneath his and moved them to either side of her body. The movement jolted Gaius momentarily out of his turbulent thoughts, and he opened his eyes once more; she shoved his shoulders with all her might, forcing him back, and then spread her arms to hold his forearms against the ground.

_**One. **_Half dazed, Gaius made the mistake of moving his gaze away from Milla's ferocious expression in an attempt to strategize. Instead, his attention snagged on the fact that her top was beginning to slip down a little, an almost physically painful reminder that she _was _in a blissfully human appearance…

…And that such a form was blessed with all the features of womankind.

_**Two. **_Coming back to himself abruptly, Gaius finally forced himself to sit up and push her back: he was _not _going to defeat himself like this when his pride was at stake. Ordinarily, he was much better at putting mind over matter, so to speak—but to do so while in such deliciously indecorous proximity to such a _perfect_—

Milla sat down on the carpet, hard, and Gaius practically felt like he was wading through molasses as he pursued her. His thoughts had taken an alarming turn, and the emotions behind them even more so; it was time to end this before he did something for which he would later be sorry…

She was a fast learner: noticing his hesitation and taking her opportunity, Milla leapt at him, and Gaius choked back an involuntary utterance as he was pushed once more against the carpet. But his cry had nothing to do with the pressure on his shoulders…

_**One. **_She was… how to put this delicately… straddling him.

_** Two. **_Nay, not only that; she was _sitting on his pelvis_. Gaius's senses sharpened automatically, and he swallowed at their fleet and maddening observations. How very little kept him from Milla Maxwell and her holiest of sanctuaries… He knelt forward, his body acting outside his mind's command, and pinned her wrists above her head.

_**One. **_The rule about the shoulders was all but forgotten at this point; it no longer seemed to matter. Gaius's eyes slid down from her wrists like a stream of hot water, curling down around her muscular arms and shoulders, rising like steam past perfect lips, skimming over smooth cheeks, and finally meeting her incarnadine irises.

_**Two. **_Milla smiled up at him, almost coyly… and then, she wrapped her legs around his knees, pulling herself away from Gaius's careful control. His grip weakened convulsively as their pelvises grazed against one another, sending something like electricity shooting up his spine.

Triumphantly, Milla pushed him forward again, brushing her hair out of her face as she went, and slid onto his waist. And—spirits save him—_Gaius could feel her through that miniskirt._ Taking strength from that peculiar brand of weakness, he threw her off immediately, rolling her over.

_**One. **_The distance between them was unbearable. Too close, and yet far too far. Milla shoved him to the side, but she lost track of her own momentum—and the next thing Gaius knew, Milla was lying partially atop him…

_ Spirits._

_**One. **_He could feel her pelvic bone against his hip, and he could feel her thigh pressing lightly against his groin, and her bare midriff was tense against his naked torso… along with her thinly covered chest.

_**Two. **_Deep breaths, Gaius. _Deep _breaths.

They both stirred simultaneously, as if waking from a shared dream: Milla planted her knees on either side of him again, just a split second before Gaius convinced himself to sit up. Dislodged from her position, she caught the back of his neck as she fell.

He caught himself, arching over Milla on all fours, his hands planted on the ground instead of on her shoulders; her legs were spread as if to accommodate him, her knees folded. Gaius noticed hazily that she too was breathing hard, and that her pupils were dilated. (Perhaps this wasn't an unrequited sensation, then…)

Their eyes locked, an unspoken challenge issued between them—a silent power struggle. Whoever broke first would be the loser, pinned in a different way. Half-consciously, Gaius lowered himself over her, resting on his elbows; he found that he no more had the power to hold her shoulders and end the match than to flatten the Mon Highlands.

"I don't know what arte you're casting," muttered Milla, her eyes skimming his chest; though the words were clearly intended to be sharp, her voice was soft and lower even than usual. "But you said they weren't allowed." She paused, frowning, and looked up again. "Is this a status condition…?"

Gaius nodded, after a brief pause, and she tilted her head as if asking him to explain. His breath caught. Ah, she looked glorious, with her hair spilling behind her like a golden waterfall, her curves laid open for him to see…

"I know how to cure it," he responded huskily, making no effort to clear his throat. It had admittedly been awhile, if only because of his work as monarch, but it wasn't as though he could simply forget his own instincts…

"How?" whispered Milla, her eyes wide, and Gaius hesitated. Carefully, experimentally, he lowered his hips to brush against hers: she gave a little gasp, plainly shocked, but made no effort to move away from him, only shifting her legs slightly. "What—?" she breathed, her eyes widening.

The last of his inhibitions, faltering as his blood abandoned them, implored that he think of her regard for Jude. However, Gaius rejected them immediately; he had no designs on her heart—_that_ belonged firmly to the boy. But her body? If Jude hadn't already trespassed there, then… well, should the Lord of Spirits grace the king with her consent, it was his for the taking.

But it still wouldn't feel right if Gaius didn't give her fair warning; she was hardly experienced. "Maxwell," he murmured, meeting her gaze with some difficulty; the words felt thorny in his throat, begging not to be spoken. "If you truly care for Jude, you'll… get up and leave me," he forced himself to continue.

"Why?" breathed Milla, but her eyes were not on his face but rather his pants: hearing her unspoken request, he repeated his motion again, more insistently, and she inhaled sharply.

"Because," answered Gaius through grit teeth, restraining himself with difficulty from establishing a more constant rhythm, "if you don't walk away _now_, you might lose him."

"Lose… Jude?" asked Milla, sounding as though she didn't quite understand, and raised a delicate hand to caress his neck, the sharp edges of her fingernails contrasting dizzyingly with the softness of her pads. He swallowed a groan with some difficulty, moving his head away from her touch like a cat, and Milla… smiled. She was _enjoying_ this!

A sensual kind of fury enveloped Gaius, and he dipped his pelvis more aggressively, lingering longer before withdrawing once more: she arched her back automatically, her hand falling to her side. "Yes, lose him," growled Gaius, resting a hand on her midriff, "because you're giving yourself to me, rather than to him."

Milla bit her lip as he slid his hand up, under her top, and planted her foot on his torso. "Jude won't ever leave me," she asserted, glowering up at him, and he found himself smiling disbelievingly at her certainty. "He's a better man than you."

"Oh?" asked Gaius, chuckling once and squeezing gently: Milla gave something between a wince and a smile, squirming. "Then why aren't you with _him_?" he added, though the reason no longer seemed to matter; her foot scudded down along his torso, finally sliding between his skin and his waistband: his breath caught.

Smirking at the sound, Milla brought both her hands up and skimmed down to his pectoral muscles, her foot brushing his thigh; Gaius half-closed his eyes—but then, she withdrew her foot suddenly and pushed him back with all her strength, reversing their positions triumphantly.

Gaius's eyes lingered appreciatively on her exposed chest as her tube top was dislodged; Milla made no effort to cover herself again, instead leaning down, their bare chests brushing. "That's for me to know," she whispered, her breath hot in his ear and her voice sending pleasant shivers down his spine, "and you to find out."

He smiled, rolling her over with a sudden motion; she lay close beneath him, clothes askew and hair wild, and her eyes shone with something like anticipation as she slid her hand to the back of his neck, gripping the base of his hair.

"Heal me," she commanded—and Gaius, the dominant one, submitted to her.

_**Three.**_

* * *

><p>He reflects, somewhat ruefully, that their fight has <em>still<em> not truly been resolved.

Of course, if Milla wants to try it again someday, Gaius very much doubts whether he'll be able to resist—but something tells him that she's gotten whatever she came for, and won't come to him for it again. He turns to look at her, slumbering peacefully next to him, and wonders what exactly that was. It could not have been mere closure; he offered her the chance to walk away, and she had not taken it.

Gaius supposes Milla could have been seeking a challenge; Jude is very submissive, and perhaps she wanted to know what it would be like to be with someone much more dominant in nature. Or it could be that she wanted experience enough to counter Jude's naïvete whenever the time inevitably came for them to… _tether_.

For her to know and for him to find out? Gaius laughs softly in the darkness. He doubted very much whether he'll ever fully understand tonight's events. Gaius closes his eyes once more, troubled thoughts lingering on Jude. He's far more inclined to blame him than Milla, but it wasn't _all_ his fault; he tried to warn her…

Well, let Jude resent him if he likes; Gaius doubts very much whether he'll ever regret the evening's events, no matter how many people blame him for their occurrence. Perhaps he can't decide where he went wrong because he never went wrong to begin with; in the night's sleepy serenity, as he finally relaxes into dreams, everything feels right.


End file.
